Iceland review - 2019, Blaðsíða 124

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Iceland Review
of cigars, like raisins and spice, but also the scent
of the perfume he gave her. This coupled fragrance
clung to Elenóra’s hair when she wore the necklace
and he smelled it every time he bent down to kiss her
cheek.
“Maybe your mother has it.”
“She says that you do.”
“Well, unfortunately, I don’t know where it is.”
They fall silent and Sólmundur remembers sit-
ting with the kids in the living room when they were
little and listening to the peals of laughter and chit-
chat coming from the kitchen, where Elenóra and
Sólveig were making coffee. He’d never really known
how to talk to them. The sunlight accentuates the
veils of steam rising out of his coffee cup, which he
hasn’t picked up once.
“Well, I’ve got to get ready to go now,” he says.
“I’ve got to go meet my friend.”
“Steingrímur Oddi?” asks the girl – almost mock-
ingly, he thinks.
“Yes, Steingrímur Oddi,” he repeats.
“Are you sure? You haven’t had anything. Have
you eaten anything today?”
“I told you I wasn’t hungry.”
“Okay,” she says, getting to her feet quickly. Her
brother does the same. “Let me take care of the
dishes, at least,” says the girl. “Since you didn’t have
anything.”
She collects the cups and puts them on the tray
with the pastry plate. She didn’t have any Danish
either, although her brother had three pieces. Coffee
sloshes out of Sólmundur’s untouched, brim-full
coffee cup, leaving behind a ring. Sólmundur wipes
the coaster clean with the sleeve of his sweater and
then puts it away with the others. He and the boy
follow his granddaughter into the hall and stand
by the door while she disappears further into the
apartment with the tea set. They hear her turn on
the faucet in the kitchen. The boy crouches down to
tie his shoes. When he stands back up, they are eye
to eye, the same height. He fishes his jacket out of
the pile on the chair.
“We can drop you off down at the community
centre, if you want,” he says.
“No, thanks,” says Sólmundur. “I like to walk.”
“Okay, but it’s really cold out. And icy, although
you can’t see it. Be careful.”
“Of course.”
“You should get a mobile phone. That’s what mom
says – that it’s absurd you don’t have a phone, in case
something happens.”
“She says that, does she?”
The boy glances quickly at Sólmundur, as though
he’s accidentally spilled a secret. “Yeah. She worries
about you.”
“I’m fine.”
His grandson shakes his head and an angry
expression flits across his wide, young face. “You’re
just like her,” he mutters.
At first, Sólmundur thinks the boy’s talking
about his sister, since he keeps glancing into the
hallway for her, but then he realises that he’s talking
about his mother. Things have been cold between
her and Sólmundur for a long time – one of those
long silences that solidifies in your throat and can’t
be softened just like that. The silence between them
is probably older, from before Elenóra died. He’d
never needed to talk to his daughter that much,
although he enjoyed watching her grow up and
thrive and become a person. Elenóra had taken care
of talking for the both of them.
The girl is in the kitchen for quite a long time. The
water runs and runs. Finally, she turns off the tap,
reappears, and takes her jacket from the chair. She’s
wearing high-heeled boots, didn’t take them off like
her brother did.
“I left the pastry so you can have some later,” she
says.
“Thank you,” says Sólmundur. “And thanks for
the visit.”
“We’ll call ahead next time,” says the boy. “But
just make sure not to leave the phone off the hook.”
He doesn’t dare look in his grandfather’s eyes as he’s
chiding him, gazes down at his shoes abashedly and
fiddles with the zipper on his jacket.
“Have a good time with your friend,” says the girl
with a broad smile.
“I will,” answers Sólmundur hesitantly, still
unsure of whether she’s making fun of him. She
leans forward, gives him a hug, and kisses him on the
cheek. He smells her hair, the aroma of something
just under her cloying perfume that he hadn’t notice
before. It’s a familiar scent – spicy and sweet – and
calls to mind hazy memories that nearly bring tears
to his eyes. He shakes himself out of it, lets her go,
and silently curses himself for turning into a weepy
old man.
“You’ll let me know if you find the necklace,
right?” she asks, stepping across the threshold and
looking him straight in the eye. Sólmundur nods, but
then shakes his head in agitation.
“I don’t know where it is.”
His grandson says goodbye with a handshake.
Sólmundur walks them to the elevator and watches
the doors slide closed before going back inside, lock-
ing the door, and setting the chain.
He closes the window in the living room and then
stands hidden behind the curtain, watching them
come out and walk in the direction of the little sedan
parked all by itself in the furthest corner of the park-
ing lot. They’re arguing. The boy is walking behind
her and talking a mile a minute, gesticulating wildly.